


Nightmare

by Asdrator



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Nightmares, Tragedy, this is really sad so don’t read it if youre already sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asdrator/pseuds/Asdrator
Summary: At seventeen years old, Sigurd and Eldigan, who are secretly dating at the Belhalla Officers Academy, are sleeping in the same bed when Sigurd wakes up due to a nightmare about Eldigan.Four years later, the nightmare comes true.
Relationships: Eltshan | Eldigan/Siglud | Sigurd
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Nightmare

With a start, Sigurd jolted upwards in his bed, breathing heavily. He placed a hand to his forehead, finding that he was drenched with sweat. It had been an intense nightmare, to say the very least, and Sigurd could vividly remember every detail even now that he had woken up. Though it was increasingly apparent that it was all a dream, he had to make sure of one thing to be sure. Looking over to the figure at his side, he found that his love was still there, sleeping with a gentle look on his face.

Eldigan was still alive.

Sighing in relief, Sigurd fell back onto his pillow, closing his eyes in an attempt to return to sleep, hopefully this time without the nightmares- or, at least, without that nightmare in particular. After some unknown amount of minutes and several attempts to reposition himself more comfortably, he gave up and opened his eyes once again, staring anxiously up into the ceiling of the bedroom. However, whatever was up there- Naga, he had always been told, and the other dragons, but he was less and less sure of that the more he learned of the world- did not make any attempt to soothe him, if they even cared. Turning over once more, he stared longingly at Eldigan’s sleeping face, desperately wanting to kiss his soft lips, to be completely sure he was still there, because gods he was beautiful, and it was hard to believe that such a man was right there in bed beside him. Sigurd wondered if there were times that Eldigan was awake while he was asleep, and he thought the same loving thoughts of him.

“Are you almost done tossing and turning about?” A tired, quiet voice said, making Sigurd’s heart feel like it stopped for a moment.

“Eldigan? You’re awake?” Sigurd asked, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and renewed relief.

“Of course I’m awake, how could anyone sleep with you tossing about like a Silessian in the wind?” Eldigan questioned. Before Sigurd could apologize, Eldigan pressed a finger to his lips. “No, don’t bother. I’m already awake, so you may as well just skip to telling me what’s wrong already.”

Thinking back on what he had seen in the nightmare, Sigurd considered telling his lover. He considered telling him of their reunion in four years’ time in some castle that Sigurd didn’t recognize- Verdanian, perhaps? He considered telling him of the fall of Nordion, of the war between Agustria and Grannvale, of the rescue of Lachesis and then the fall of Agusty. He considered telling him even of the final battle between their forces, of Lachesis’s plea, of Eldigan’s murder- for at the hands of the thugs of somebody like the despicable Agustrian Crown Prince Chagall it could hardly be called an execution. It was when dwelling on the last part of his dream, the opening of that ‘gift’ from Chagall by his men, all too painfully slowly, that he elected not to say anything of it to Eldigan. What use is telling somebody of some wild fantasy that ends with their own severed head in a box?

Instead, after the moments of his hesitation had passed, Sigurd leaned forward and kissed Eldigan on the forehead. “Don’t worry about it, my love. It was just some silly nightmare, nothing worth mentioning. I’m sure it won’t return. Now, we have some difficult classes tomorrow, so let’s be sure to rest up, alright? We can’t let Quan exceed us, else he’ll hold it over our heads for the rest of the month.”

Eldigan only looked more concerned, but while listening to Sigurd speak he seemed to let it go. “Only the month?” He teased. “Unusually generous of him. I would have expected a year of boasting at least.”

They both laughed at that, and Sigurd found himself falling in love once more when seeing Eldigan’s wide smile. “Ich mag dich.” He told him fondly.

“Je t’aime.” Eldigan replied without missing a beat. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep once more several minutes later, his hand holding that of Sigurd.

For the rest of the night, however, Sigurd did not sleep. He only watched Eldigan and worried.

Endlessly, his nightmare replayed in his head.  
—————————————————————  
Four years later, Sigurd prayed for Eldigan’s safety from the chapel of Madino. Lachesis had convinced him to return to Chagall- King Chagall now, technically, but that cruel and arbitrary man would never be worthy of being a king in Sigurd’s eyes- to try and convince him once again to make peace with Sigurd. However, no word, either of success or of failure, had returned to them in the few days since. Though they had ceased being lovers for years now, with Eldigan having been required by his father to seek a wife, and him striving as always to play the role of the chivalrous knight and show his new wife some amount of dedication, Sigurd worried about him easily. Still, he seemed happy, and over time he forgot his nightmare, instead watching Eldigan from afar with a mixture of pride, appreciation, and a little sadness, even after he had found Deirdre. Yet this situation...

Suddenly, somebody entered the chapel in a hurry. “Lord Sigurd!” It was Oifey, which meant Shannan wasn’t far behind. Those two got along like bread and butter, though for the life of him Sigurd still didn’t understand why. “A gift has arrived! From Silvail!” From Chagall, was what was implied. Sigurd gulped; this whole situation seemed oddly familiar, though he couldn’t imagine that he- or most men really- had ever been through something like it before. “Thank you, Oifey.” He said at last, standing up and steeling himself for whatever came next. Knowing Chagall, the odds were even that it was a peace offering or a threat with delusiona of grandeur. “Lead the way.”

The soldiers already had the box that Chagall had sent him prepared when Sigurd came to sit at the throne at the head of the great hall of Mandino. Sigurd had never liked thrones much, too gaudy and meant for kings besides, when Sigurd was no king and had never wanted to be. Still, his soldiers needed leadership, and nothing displayed leadership in their minds better. “Open the box.” He gave the order at last, thinking himself composed for what came next.

He was not.

As the gift was opened, great golden locks tumbled out. It was then, really, that Sigurd realized what was really contained within, but even as the court murmured in disbelief and the soldiers hesitated, Sigurd motioned for them to continue. Some part of him just refused to believe it, refused to accept that which had become apparent.

It should have.

When the box was fully forced open, the ghostly pale, eerily beautiful head of Eldigan lay within, a sad little smile of acceptance on his face, and oh god the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. Oifey rushed to put a hand on Sigurd’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but Sigurd shook his head, mumbled an ‘excuse me’, and ran off to his bedroom. Collapsing onto the bed, he raised a hand up to the ceiling, as if reaching to take back Eldigan from the gods. Was this really all that his love brought to its recipients? Grief and death?

If only he had told Eldigan about his nightmare that night, maybe things would have been different. Maybe Eldigan would have thought it silly and promptly forgotten it. Maybe he would’ve remembered and still followed the same path due to his stupid, stupid code of honor. The chance that it might have changed something, anything, however, would remain with Sigurd for the rest of his life.

If only, if only, if only… this repeated in his head for what felt like an eternity.

His nightmare had come true.


End file.
